


I Win

by idk_pan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idk_pan/pseuds/idk_pan
Summary: inspired by the song Teen Idle by Mariana and The Diamonds and my lovely friend :]
Kudos: 1





	I Win

ROMAN POV:

I am so sick and tired of it. Of everything. Of constantly feeling like nothing I do will ever be enough. Of being treated like shit for nothing. Of nobody caring.

Day and night, the feeling doesn't let up. Coming home just makes it worse. Harsh insults and even harsher hands strike me, knocking me further down than I thought possible.  
I can never do anything right. At least that's what the voices say, both inside my head and out. The voices inside are louder, shouting at me, wearing down what little patience and mentality I had left.

Nobody knows it though. For all they know, I'm just some random kid in the room, probably thinking about girls or whatever shit teenage guys think of. Nobody cares enough to ask, to take a single moment out of their own day to check on someone else. Of course not. Too wrapped up in their own shit to even spare the kid in the corner a thought. 

Why would they. I'm just some fuck up kid with shitty mental health and nobody to talk to. Why would they care. I doubt anyone would notice if I died. They didn't before, when I tried. My own parents didn't bat an eyelid, nor did my so called friends.

Friends. What a useless word. People who tolerate your existence? People who are supposed to fucking care if you try and off yourself? Not bloody likely.

They'd like the attention though, I think. Playing the sad best friend role to the full extent. I know Patton can cry on command. Attention seeking fucker. He craves attention like an addict craves drugs. He lives off of it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
timeskip because plot convenience  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just to add to the growing list of things I have to worry about, school prom is coming up. Prom. More like 'haha I'm more popular than you go fuck yourself' contest. It's the same deal every year. Hot popular girl wins queen, and some hotshot up-his-own-arse jock wins king. And everyone loves them for it. Everyone adores them. In that instant, they're perfect.... 

If I were to win king, maybe someone would finally listen. Actually listen. Maybe someone would try to help what frankly cannot be helped. If I were to win king, momentarily, I'd be perfect.

A moment is enough. One good moment out of so many shitty ones is all I need. I have to win. For that one single minute, single second of perfection, of adoration. I crave it. This must be what Patton feels. I will let nothing and nobody stand in my way. Nobody gets to take this from me.

I can't just tell them 'oh please vote me for king I'm a depressed kid who desperately needs validation, thanks mate'. They'll just laugh. More than usual. No. They have to go. All of them. Each one is a threat to my victory. They must be eliminated.

And I know exactly how. For years, the itch in the back of my mind has grown stronger. The itch to hurt, myself or others. The itch for revenge. Make them feel what I feel inside. I will make them bleed.

The first two are easy. Quick knife to the back, literal and metaphorical. That's all it takes. Two of my threats are gone. I'm that much closer to the victory. Now it becomes harder. People start to notice disappearances. I play along. Nobody can know. 

Three, four, five, six. The blood seeps into my skin, staining it dark hues of crimson and red. It's strangely beautiful. Broken bodies lay at my feet, blood still flowing, like a river in a fairytale. I don't bother washing my hands, knowing soon they'll be stained with more blood, blood of those who never cared, those who never listened, those who misjudged me. 

Seven, eight, nine, ten. People are dropping like flies. It's all everyone can talk about. I am so close. So close to that perfect victory. That perfect moment of blissful validation. Everyone is scared of everyone. Why wouldn't they be? There's a killer on the loose, after all. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. The itch floods my entire body. I cannot contain my hands from twitching when people pass. Cannot contain the thoughts that fill my head. As much as I want to eliminate everyone in my path. I cannot.

I need them. I need people to worship me at my feet when I win. There's no way I can't now. I need the validation of the public. To see their adoring gaze as they look upon their king. I want to look them in the eyes as I say 'I win'. I want to see the smile wiped off their perfect little faces.

The day is here. There is no way I cannot come out on top. Each and every competitor has been eliminated. I feel proud. The voices are proud too. Whispering congratulations whenever I glance at the blood under my nails. 

I am not sure if it was out of fear, or lack of other competitors that pushes people to vote for me. I stand on the stage, looking down on them. I am their king. Pairs of frightened eyes gaze back up at me. I smile, sickly sweet. I win. The girl beside me stands at a distance. I pull her close to me, despite her protests. She is my queen. 

It's over before I can register my feelings. My moment of glory is over. Now that I've felt it, I don't know how I'll ever live without it. I need it. I want it. And what I want, I get. 

My queen is the first to go. People run, as they always do. But in my frenzy, my need, I am faster. I catch up. I always will. They are next, gone before they can finish their pleas to live. They lie at my feet, bowing to their king. Not that they're are aware of it.

My crown slips as I walk, hands twitching by my sides. He itch is back. The need for blood. However, there is nobody. Nobody. Almost on their own, my hands drift down to my knife. The one I kept close. Just in case. 

My head spins. The realisation of what I have done hits me like a train. I have taken lives. Hurt people instead of myself. I don't deserve this crown. I rip it off like it's burning, and throw it on to the ground. It crumples. Fragile paper. That's what I was working for. Paper. Meaningless, coloured paper. I cannot live with what I have done. 

The knife is there before I can think. I feel a sharp pain. Then nothing. 

I win.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading lol :3


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